


Bad Days

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: There are good days and then there are days that require more understanding.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	Bad Days

Aziraphale knows that Crowley has days when he remembers The Fall. Days when he wakes up from nightmares about it, shivering and sweating and shaking. Days that if Aziraphale so much as touches him, his wings burst in to reality and envelop him in protective black feathers. He leaves their bed and he goes to sit off by himself. It hurts to see him do it, but Aziraphale has learned to give him space. He putters around the cottage and he reads, keeping vigil. Later in the day he’ll leave tea sitting beside Crowley, making sure the demon knows he’s there without being intrusive.

It can sometimes take days for Crowley to come back to him, but usually it’s only most of one. A scuffing of feet beside his chair or in the kitchen behind him as he cooks dinner or on the other side of the bed that night. A wordless apology to replace the old verbal ones. It’s never something Aziraphale feels needs forgiveness, and he’s said as much so many times that the scuffing is all that’s left.

Because regardless of where Crowley comes back to him, he’s happy to receive. Happy to have permission to do more. Joyful, even, to pull him back into his arms and hold him. 

To snuggle him down in to his arms in his over-sized chair and read to him from whatever book is in his lap. The soft sigh from a head pressed to his chest letting him know that Crowley isn’t falling asleep, but listening.

Content to tuck the taller man into his side as he stirs at the stove; to plant a soft kiss on his cheek and watch a small smile tug at his lips. Happier still, when Crowley takes the spoon from him so he can continue the gentle kisses, unencumbered.

But, happiest still when Crowley crawls in bed beside him that night and tucks right up next to him, face-to-face. They share delicate, quiet touches in the dark; reaffirming bonds that haven’t even been broken. And Crowley lets himself be cared for then, yielding to the touches and the soft encouragements as Aziraphale knits his tatters back together again.


End file.
